(Non) Platonic Dating
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: An afternoon out at a Christmas fair leads Sherlock to asking a simple question. "John, are we dating?"


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise. **

**Challenges at the bottom **

**Word Count** \- 1780

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**(Non) Platonic Dating **

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There were moments, even a month later, that John was convinced he dreamt Sherlock's return. Most of those moments happened in the early hours of the morning when most of London was still sleeping, long before the sun came up.

Nightmares still plagued John, and after a meager few hours sleep, he could often be found in the kitchen of 221B, trying to calm himself with a cup of tea. Sometimes, he could settle himself enough to nap on the sofa until the light filters through the curtains, but more times than not, he would be wired and restless until Sherlock showed himself.

Occasionally, John would think about putting his head around Sherlock's door, knowing that even a tiny glimpse of the consulting detective would put him at ease, but he could never bring himself to do it. It seemed like a terrible breach of privacy to John, and he'd only just got Sherlock back. He refused to do anything that would endanger the almost normalcy that they were enjoying.

One such night, John was sitting at the table when Sherlock padded from his bedroom, his blackberry coloured dressing gown falling from one shoulder, his eyes tired but alert. He paused when he saw John before nodding to the kettle.

"Just boiled?"

John nodded, rolling his cup between his hands. "Five minutes ago."

Sherlock slumped at the table a few moments later, his own cup of tea in front of him. "Nightmare?"

John just nodded again. The last thing he wanted to do was attempt to explain the sentiment that was still causing him pain over Sherlock's supposed death when the man in question was now back amongst the living.

"Want to talk about it?"

"No thanks. What are you doing up?"

Sherlock shrugged, running a hand through his already messy curls. "Nightmare."

"Do _you_ want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly."

John nodded for a third time, smiling fondly when Sherlock's eyelids drooped. Draining his tea, John rounded the table, taking Sherlock's hand in his and pulling him over to the couch, grabbing the remote enroute. Depositing them both on the sofa and pulling the blanket from the back of it over their laps, John did a quick search on the tv to find a movie before he leant back into the soft cushions.

"What are we doing?" Sherlock asked, sounding both curious and confused.

"Watching tv. Company can help after a nightmare, as can the tv and the radio. Just… try and concentrate on just the tv screen. Hopefully you'll be able to get a few more hours sleep."

Smiling slightly with understanding, Sherlock slumped back into the corner of the sofa, pulling his legs up off the floor. It didn't take long for their breathing to slow and sync, their limbs relaxing as each fell back into the sandman's grasp.

Sherlock woke slowly. Disoriented for a few moments, it took him a few seconds to realise why he was so warm and comfortable. He lay on the sofa, his arms curled around John, holding him tightly to his chest like a rather large cuddly teddy bear.

Nightmare.

Tea.

John.

Movie.

The words flashed in his mind, alerting him to why he was in such a position in the first place. Before he could think on it anymore, John stirred, turning in Sherlock's arms so his face was buried against Sherlock's neck. Sherlock was surprised when, instead of jumping up and running away, John took a moment to inhale deeply, his body more relaxed the Sherlock had ever known it.

"Morning," John mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," Sherlock replied, almost automatically. He hadn't released the grip he had on his best friend, but since John didn't seem to mind, he decided to indulge in a few more moments of the closeness.

Sherlock had never wanted to be close to another human until he met John. How a man with such a fondness for terrible jumpers and tea had gotten so under his skin, Sherlock had no idea, but he couldn't find it in himself to regret the sentiment he felt for the doctor.

"Any plans for the day?" John asked quietly, tilting his head back so he could look at Sherlock.

"Nothing important. Unless Lestrade calls with a case of course."

John hummed, offering Sherlock a small smile. Stretching out, he pulled himself up using the back of the sofa as an anchor. Sherlocks arms fell away, and they both felt the loss.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked as John nudged his legs out of the way so he could stand up.

"Thought I'd check out the Christmas Market at Camden," John replied with a small shrug. "I haven't bought anything for anyone, I s'pose I should get a move on with it."

John wandered off to the bathroom, leaving Sherlock sitting on the sofa wanting nothing more than to pull John back into his arms and hold him captive there for the rest of eternity.

John was making tea when Sherlock rejoined him in the kitchen forty five minutes later, fully dressed. John blinked when he saw Sherlock was dressed but chose not to comment on it.

"Want some eggs or are you just having toast this morning?"

"We can grab something while we're out," Sherlock replied, accepting the cup of tea John handed him.

"You're coming to the market?"

Sherlock nodded. "I have nothing better to do, and I'm sure you'll insist I at least get Mrs Hudson a gift for Christmas. We can make a day of it."

John smiled. "Okay."

Glad that he'd made the right decision, Sherlock watched John sip his tea. While of course he wouldn't be able to get the doctor a gift today, he thought he should probably get him something rather special this year. After the incredibly long separation, Sherlock was determined that John understand just how essential he was to Sherlock's continued well being.

"Ready?"

Draining his tea, Sherlock nodded, pulling his belstaff on. It was chilly out, the winter weather well and truly settling itself in. Without thinking, he helped John into his own coat, ignoring the look John gave him, and the two left the house.

"Cab or tube?" John asked, snorting when Sherlock rolled his eyes, holding his hand out to flag down a taxi. They climbed in, sitting slightly closer than necessary. The easy silence between them held, and John let his leg rest comfortably against Sherlock's as he stared out of the window.

Things had been changing between them, but John was at ease with the changes. He thought he'd probably take anything if it meant that Sherlock was home, but the changes were more than welcome, and he was enjoying them immensely.

"Who are you shopping for?" Sherlock asked as they approached Camden. John turned away from the window to look at his consulting detective.

"Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly, Harry," he replied. "I would have been shopping for you too, but you're here and I'm not going to make it easier for you to guess what you've got before you open your presents."

"I never guess, John," Sherlock replied, a smile tugging at his lips. "Greg?"

"Lestrade, Sherlock. Christ, you know his name, I don't understand why you insist on pretending you don't."

Sherlock shrugged. "It amuses me."

Shaking his head, John chuckled.

"Of course it does, you're a child in a man's body."

…

It had been a good day, John thought, though he was tired and cold by the time they returned in the late afternoon. Sherlock had been quiet on their way home, and since they'd gotten in, he'd lit the fire and then slumped on the sofa, deep in thought.

They sat in a comfortable silence, John reading with the volume on the tv turned up just enough to fill the room with soft murmurings.

"John?"

"Hmm?" John looked up from his book, smiling at Sherlock.

"What's the process of dating?"

Putting his book down, John sighed, wondering where on earth this conversation topic had come from.

"It's spending time with someone you like."

"But why is that different from friendship?"

"Ah. Dating is spending time with someone that you have a sexual attraction for; someone that you could maybe see a future with."

Sherlock nodded, looking thoughtful. Thinking that the conversation was done, John picked up his book only to be interrupted again a few minutes later.

"John… are we dating?"

John set his book down again, this time on the table out of the way. "We're not dating at the moment," he answered carefully.

"But… we could be dating? If there was sexual attraction between us?"

"Yes. We could."

"John, do you find me sexually attractive?"

"Sherlock, what's this all about? Do you want us to be dating, or… I'm confused as to where this has come from."

"I just… this morning. That was… good. That was… I liked it. Waking up. With you. And. I wanted…"

Sherlock trailed off looking unsure.

John got up, moving around the table and sitting beside Sherlock on the sofa. "Was it the comfort, Sherlock? A lot of people, particularly after a nightmare, find comfort in a hug. Are you sure it wasn't just that?"

"I think that was part of it," Sherlock admitted. "But… I wanted to touch you. And… I want to kiss you."

John smiled. "What's stopping you?"

"You're not gay," Sherlock answered immediately.

"When was the last time I denied you to anyone who asked we were partners in the more biblical sense?"

Sherlock paused. "Before… before I…"

"Before your extended break from life, yes." John chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, I think I was wrong. We are dating, platonic dating. Neither of us are interested in anyone else, and I've grown attached to the idea that when we retire, it will be together."

"Platonic dating," Sherlock repeated, testing the words out on his tongue. He wrinkled his nose delicately. "Could we… do you think… can we try not-so-platonic dating?"

John smiled. "I'm sure we can, if that's what you want."

Nodding eagerly, Sherlock leant forward, pressing his lips to John's. John smiled into the kiss, cupping Sherlock's jaw gently. When they parted, Sherlock moved back only a little bit, leaning into the touch.

"What do you think?" John asked. "Want to try non-platonic dating?"

Sherlock nodded, manhandling John until he was sitting over Sherlock's lap, his legs dangling over the sofa, pressed into Sherlock's side.

"I like you here," Sherlock whispered into John's hair. "You fit here. Perfectly."

John could only agree, rubbing his cheek against Sherlock's shoulder. Their books lay abandoned as they enjoyed the quiet peace of each other.

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**Written for;**

Auction - Blackberry

365\. 172. Afternoon

1000\. 677. Restriction - No Characters under 21


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